etcircenses: (Default)
Panem Events ([personal profile] etcircenses) wrote in [community profile] thearena2014-01-18 02:35 pm

ARENA 09 - THE MUSEUM

The Tributes are woken up early for this Arena, and switched from whatever sleeping attire they're currently in to a set of pajamas, each designed for the individual in questions. Women wear onesies, and most of the men wear two-pieces, but other than that any similarities are at random - the outfits are in all sorts of colors and patterns.

The floor of the helicopter taking them to their Arena location, and of the underground entrance to the tubes that hoist them to the surface, will feel cold under their bare feet.

Rather than bringing them to sunlight, like the tubes have in the past, instead the Tributes are presented to a dark concrete ceiling in a badly-lit parking lot. Fluorescent lights do little to illuminate the cavernous space.

The countdown begins, announced as if from far away.

20

19

18…


The Cornucopia, a ghastly thing carved from stone and concrete, sits at the center of a pattern of white and yellow lines reminiscent of spots for parked cars. The painted lines create a sort of spoked wheel, providing lanes for the Tributes leading to the prizes at the center. Some of the more unfortunate Tributes will find the concrete architecture has placed pillars in their lanes.

8

7

6…


Six parked cars lie around the outskirts of the huge lot, barely visible in the dim lighting. Glowing exit signs on two opposite sides of the chamber announce where Tributes should go to escape the bloodbath. Elevator doors are perched beneath them.

3

2

1


The gong rings out, and the countdown's voice announces "the Arena is now open". The Games have begun.
carnagecarnival: (You can't hide.)

OTA

[personal profile] carnagecarnival 2014-01-21 12:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Messiahs motherfucking bless him. Messiahs up and blessed. He spotted the club and his hands folded together in thanks, head tilting back as he gave his praises to the ceiling. Capitol would think it was for them, the heathens, the heretics, the faithless fuckers. They'd not see it was for the Holy Two and they alone. For that, once his praises are done, he makes sure to give symbol just for capitol, a bird flipped high.

Grinning joyous, he reaches out and takes the club-- spiked, and beautifully so. He can just imagine the color that could coat it back on Alternia, that it would take to. He weighs it in each hand, feeling it's balance, the heaviness, all of it. Then he swings with a wicked speed. It crashes gloriously into the display, shattering glass, cracking through plaster, denting what it couldn't break. It reverbs up through his hand. He lifts of the club and shamelessly kisses the top of it.

They're dead. Anyone who crosses him is dead.

And he is so motherfucking happy.